Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell Poems

Still falls the Rain---
Dark as the world of man, black as our loss---
Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails
Upon the Cross.
...

WHEN cold December
Froze to grisamber
The jangling bells on the sweet rose-trees--
Then fading slow
...

BENEATH the flat and paper sky
The sun, a demon's eye,
Glowed through the air, that mask of glass;
All wand'ring sounds that pass
...

JANE, Jane,
Tall as a crane,
The morning light creaks down again;
...

ACROSS the flat and the pastel snow
Two people go . . . . 'And do you remember
When last we wandered this shore?' . . . 'Ah no!
For it is cold-hearted December.'
...

LOVELY Semiramis
Closes her slanting eyes:
Dead is she long ago.
From her fan, sliding slow,
...

SAID the Lion to the Lioness-'When you are amber dust,-
No more a raging fire like the heat of the Sun
(No liking but all lust)-
...

CAME the great Popinjay
Smelling his nosegay:
In cages like grots
The birds sang gavottes.
...

Bells of gray crystal
Break on each bough--
The swans' breath will mist all
The cold airs now.
...

Enobles the heart and the eyes,
and unveils the meaning of all things
upon which the heart and the eyes dwell.
...